


The Morning After

by Quannon



Series: Music of the Spheres [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: First Time, Happy, M/M, Pining, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:28:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22828696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quannon/pseuds/Quannon
Summary: Crowley reminisces.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Music of the Spheres [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1664977
Comments: 2
Kudos: 24





	The Morning After

**Author's Note:**

> This story is sort of but not really explicit. To be safe, 18 and over.
> 
> The song is Neil Diamond's Play Me.  
> Right click and open in new window  
> [play sound file](https://open.spotify.com/track/0O6KPRus2xCZlKSlX90ERm)

Crowley sat in the dive staring off into space. It was a dark and smokey and vaguely vile smelling establishment with just a whiff of a yeasty undertone. Maybe a hint of mildew and a finish of sweat. This particular dive still had an old-fashioned juke box. It was supposedly forwarding the 1950’s American biker theme that the owner believed he had going. Well Crowley had ridden with the Hell’s Angels in the 50’s. Those clubs could have stood up to any demonic gang and pound for pound held their own. Humans. No, the juke box did not complete the biker gang vibe. Never-the-less, Crowley had dropped the coin, picked his song, and claimed a table in the corner from some wannabe biker that went on to pick the better part of valor (the bar).

This place should remind a demon of home. Crowley, the contrary cuss that he was, was not thinking of his demonic home. He wasn’t even drinking the pint of whatever was on tap that sat on the table in front of him or smoking the gasper that he held in his left hand. He was thinking of something entirely different than the dark, reeking world around him. He had settled into his reverie deep enough he that could almost experience the sensations again; smell the heavenly scents in the air; taste the indescribable things that had caressed his tongue; luxuriate in the sensual massage of his body. But there was so much more. So much … more ….

The record dropped (not really, it was a sound effect; the music was all digital) and Crowley’s pick came on. There was a brief attempt at general groans from the regulars until the bouncer quelled it. This wasn’t his first rodeo with an unpopular pick by Crowley. No need to replace the vintage (ahem) chairs and tables for 5 minutes of poor musical choice. The worst was when Climb Every Mountain had played 10 times in a row. Almost caused a riot.

Neil Diamond’s unmistakable voice began.  
…..He was morning  
.....And I was nighttime

It had taken 6000 years to get Aziraphale to touch him. 6000 years of dreaming; of learning each curve of his angel’s body and wondering; each line of his expressive face and desiring; each quirk of his restless hands and wanting. Aziraphale’s hands were only still if holding each other, or food, or drink. A smile quirked across Crowley’s face. Or a book. 6000 years of wondering if Aziraphale’s arms could totally wrap around him or if Aziraphale’s lips were as soft as they looked or if Aziraphale would fit snugly against his thigh. 6000 years. And then last night. When they were finally free. When they could be themselves. Aziraphale had shown in all his heavenly light in Crowley’s dark and windowless bedroom.  
…..One day I woke up  
…..To find him lying  
…..Beside my bed  
…..I softly said  
….."Come take me"

He couldn’t believe it. It had slipped out after they had dined at the Ritz. Before he had even thought about it. “Back to my place?” He didn’t even fuck it up. It was as close to smooth as he’d ever get. And Aziraphale had smiled that dizzying smile of his and said, “Yes.” Just ‘yes’. 

For once in his life, Crowley hadn’t tried to follow up with another smooth line. He just miracled the bill paid and sauntered out ahead of Aziraphale into the warm London night. They had walked in companionable silence to the Bentley although Crowley’s heart was starting to race. The Angel was coming home with him. Without being bound and gagged or having his bookshop burned down or plotting to save the world. Just … back to his place. To be with him. Without books handy.

He drove like he normally did and parked where he normally parked. Or he thought he had. After it was all over this morning, Aziraphale had said that he’d had to use 6 miracles to save pedestrians and the Bentley had taken matters into her own hands to keep from hitting the lamp post or the fire hydrant at their usual parking spot. Aziraphale is such an exaggerator.

The elevator ride up to his penthouse apartment felt exhilarating for some reason. Even without small talk. The door to the apartment opened on its own as they approached. Well trained doors know when to get out of their owner’s way. 

And then he and Aziraphale were in his apartment, his place, and all the waiting, and hoping, and pining, and imagining was suddenly birthing a new reality. Aziraphale had reached out as soon as the door was shut and pulled Crowley into his arms. And Crowley didn’t know what to do. 

He had never really thought this would ever happen. All his imagined scenarios were either about looking at Aziraphale, tasting Aziraphale, touching Aziraphale, doing all three things at once, and doing all three things at once in bed. The part where they began the mating dance had never crossed his mind. He’d always jumped to the objective, past all the warm-up exercises.

If he *had* thought about it, it would never have occurred to him that Aziraphale would just reach out and pull him in. Without prompting or several bottles of Chateau du Pape or dithering. But unexpectedly and enthrallingly, Aziraphale had just … crushed Crowley to his chest, bruised his lips with as deep and wide and passionate a kiss as Crowley had ever imagined, then held him tighter and whispered, “I love you.”

Crowley had short circuited at that point. He remembers returning the kiss after the shock wore off and circling his arms around his Angel and hugging Aziraphale as close as he was hugging Crowley. And they stood there in silence while Crowley tried to think of what should come next. He didn’t want to end what they were doing but they couldn’t really stand in the foyer all night crushing the air out of each other no matter how heart pounding lovely it was. So, Crowley thought and hugged and was inarticulate in his keening. Aziraphale kept hugging him right back and wiggling his happy wiggle in Crowley’s arms. Then at last Crowley opened his mouth without the slightest idea of what he was going to say and “I love you too!” slipped out. Thank God. Maybe she hadn’t abandoned him forever.  
…..For I've been lonely  
…..In need of someone  
…..As though I'd done  
…..Someone wrong somewhere  
…..I don't know where  
…..Come lately

The floodgates opened for both of them. He and Aziraphale did a sort of Circle Dip Waltz as they moved through the foyer, past the lounge, down the hall, and into the master bedroom. They hugged and kissed and caressed and nuzzled and nipped and sighed and surprisingly smoothly divested themselves of clothing along the way. All without letting go of each other. 

When they finally reached the bed, they paused. Aziraphale held him at arm’s length and just blatantly looked his body over up and down. He smiled that little smile when he was contemplating the flavor profile of a new and decadent little dessert. “You are so beautiful!” Crowley knew he had choked and couldn’t say anything but Aziraphale hadn’t minded at all. He had just lifted him up and put him onto the bed and lay down beside him. Crowley had ghosted his hands over the length of Aziraphale’s body and then cupped his face to better look into those blue blue eyes. His eyes that were sparking with some ineffable joy.  
…..You are the sun  
…..I am the moon  
…..You are the words  
…..I am the tune  
…..Play me

Crowley did finally retrieve a bit of the scenarios that he had thought out. In every one of them, he had made sure that Aziraphale was comfortable with everything that was happening. That he would never wake up the next day and regret anything that he and Crowley did. All that virtual training paid off. “Angel?” he sighed. “Angel, are you sure you are alright with this? I love you so much! I don’t want or need for you to do anything you might be uncomfortable with tomorrow.” 

Aziraphale had looked at him with those blue blue eyes and the softest smile Crowley had ever seen on him. With a voice as soft as a summer zephyr that still rang with Angelic Power, he said, “My dear. I have never and will never regret *anything* that we do together. I love you.”

Crowley had melted into Aziraphale’s embrace and gave himself up to the experience of being loved by his Angel.  
…..Song he sang to me  
…..Song he brang to me  
…..Words that rang in me  
…..Rhyme that sprang from me  
…..Warmed the night  
…..And what was right  
…..Became me

He and Aziraphale touched and caressed, kissed and hugged, rubbed and massaged, and finally melted into one being. They didn’t know or care where one stopped and the other started. They dipped and swirled and swooped and dove when one or the other would flap their wings, learning each other’s rhythms. Learning each other’s song.  
…..You are the sun  
…..I am the moon  
…..You are the words  
…..I am the tune  
…..Play me

In the end, they blended their melodies and created new music born of the two of them. A new song in the new world.  
…..And so it was  
…..That I came to travel  
…..Upon a road  
…..That was thorned and narrow  
…..Another place  
…..Another grace  
…..Would save me

Crowley smiled as the song ended on the fifth replay. He was only killing time while Aziraphale visited some shops for what he called the appropriate *love nest* fare. Crowley reckoned his Angel would be done by now at the bakery, the confectioners, the vintners, the Body Shoppe, and wherever he had chosen for take-out of the main course. And possibly retrieved a book from his shop *just in case*. They had *plans* for the rest of the day. He rose from the table and sauntered out of the bar in search of his Angel.  
…..You are the sun  
…..I am the moon  
…..You are the word  
…..I am the tune  
…..Play me


End file.
